


Moon Over Castle Ruins

by occultangels



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Eventual Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, F/M, Illegal Activities, Lots of Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, ace!hanzo, i hopefully will finish it, im very melodramatic, mccree hasnt appeared yet but he will!!!!, my resoultion was to post what i write instead of letting it rot in my docs, rn its just hanzo feels, so heres an unfinished mchanzo piece
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 02:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17275469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occultangels/pseuds/occultangels
Summary: Hanzo knows what is expected of him.From the moment he was born his entire future was laid out before him.It’s comforting in a way.Men have spent eons praying, searching, and theorizing about what their purpose on this earth could possibly be.Hanzo knows.He’s always known.





	Moon Over Castle Ruins

Hanzo knows what is expected of him. 

From the moment he was born his entire future was laid out before him. 

It’s comforting in a way. 

Men have spent eons praying, searching, and theorizing about what their purpose on this earth could possibly be. 

Hanzo knows. 

He’s always known. 

He’s lucky, in that way. 

(Does knowing ever bring joy? He tastes bitter satisfaction in his mouth. It tastes like bile and he swallows it down with a head held high with purpose.) 

He’s 5 when his dragons first speak to him. 

The pain is almost unbearable. He can do nothing but curl himself into a ball and moan as they slither under his skin. His vision is engulfed in an ethereal blue that emanates from his very core and suffocates him. 

They don’t want to hurt him. 

They face him for the first time. Winding their long bodies around him. There is no need for introductions. Staring past his eyes and carving a place in his soul, the intruders in his skin settle. They whisper softly as they engulf him, and for the life of him, he cannot remember what they said or if it was even a recognizable language. 

Hours later….he wakes up for the first time. Anew. 

He sees himself clearly for the first time. A new light guides him. He’s stronger. More powerful. He pushes forward, dragons at his back, teeth bared. 

(Later he will ask his dragons if they were with him from the beginning. They will say yes. Later he will ask why they waited to reveal themselves. They will say it was to protect him. Later he will thank them.) 

He’s 12 when the stainless steel of his sword firsts tastes blood. 

His father sits with the elders and they all nod approvingly when he rips his sword out of the bound man's stomach. The most minute movement of their sagging faces. His hands remain tight on the handle of the blade despite the blood dripping onto his hands. The ragged breathing of his victim does nothing to dissuade him. The strong hand of his father against his chest stops him from delivering the final blow. He ushers him out of the room. He sheaths his blade and follows a few of the elders back to the training grounds. Only after he is dismissed does he think to ask who the man was. They say he was the enemy and it was Hanzo’s duty to serve the clans best interest no matter what; which he did admirably. He smiles at the praise and only dimly registers the weight of his actions. He smothers his doubts and trains harder. 

Genji notices blood under his fingernails and asks whose it is. 

(He knows. He knows. God damn, he knows. Hanzo did his duty, why is he ashamed?)

He answers truthfully.

It doesn’t matter whose blood.

He’s 15 when he receives his tattoos. 

It’s a ceremony in their family. He remembers helping his younger brother Genji into his robes, despite his flailing. He remembers meditating early in the morning trying to reach his dragons, they remained dormant. The one-sided conversations are not new. He didn’t have very good control over them yet but the tattoos were supposed to help. 

Genji was not allowed to sit with him as the tattoo artist begins. His father and mother kneel in front of him and he does not flinch under their gaze. 

The pain is excruciating but the dragons slowly awaken under the pressure. They call out to him and he closes his eyes and breathes deeply. He begins to push and pull against them. Using meditation techniques beat into him since they first spoke to him losing himself in their movements. The dragons roar like thunder and their blue bodies flash like lightning under his skin; the steady beats of the needle-like rain pounding against him. 

He focuses on the small tuff of Genji’s hair in the back of the room; hidden behind ornate robes and decadent symbols, and loses himself in the storm.

He loses his virginity at 16. The same year his mother died.

He can’t remember the girl's name. He can’t remember her. 

(He’s lying. God, he’s lying. He remembers her eyelashes fluttering against pallid cheeks. He looked away from her face when her thin lips contorted into a grimace, instead focusing on the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest on the bed. He remembers Genji’s wet eyes. He remembers dragging him out of the hospital room when their father came to him. He remembers telling her he’d see her tomorrow. He never saw her again; the casket remains tightly closed at her funeral. Genji’s wails pierce the veil of grief that had fallen over the entire clan. No one says her name.

Genji sleeps in his room that night.) 

He remembers struggling to breathe when she sank into him. His eyes track her movement closely. He’s agitated but he supposed to be, right? His entire body was on fire. Her head was thrown back into a moan, she grabs his hand from where it rests on her hip and brings it up to cup her breast. He doesn’t pull away despite the almost overwhelming feeling that this is wrong. He shoves it down. She wants this. He wants this. 

He wants this. He wants this. 

He chants that phrase as she rides him to orgasm. 

She doesn’t stay. She remains remarkably professional about the entire ordeal. Cleaning herself up and giving him a peck on the cheek as she sashays out. 

He thinks maybe he could have liked her; had things been different. But they weren't...so he laid in bed staring at the ceiling until the dim light of the rising sun floods the room. 

He sleeps on Genji’s floor. 

There are more nights like that. Some in one of the many tastefully decorated rooms in the Shimada castle, some in a dingy musty hotel rooms host to a number of illegal activities. They never stay long. With each kiss and touch, Hanzo feels an ache in his chest, like his very soul is withering away with every orgasm drawn out of him by pink lips and tight heat.

He struggles to find pleasure he knows is supposed to be there. He’s seen it written on the faces of his multiple partners. He’s gritting his teeth, the seething anger and simple jealousy burning a hole in his heart, burning until there is nothing left but emptiness...just fucking emptiness... Hanzo is collapsing. He fucks more and extinguishes cigars on his skin in an attempt to feel something other than shame and disgust and a hollowness that threatens to swallow him whole. The pain is a welcome respite. A penance. There is something wrong with him. He sees it clear as day but doesn’t acknowledge it, instead, he focuses on his partner. He’s loving and attentive in bed and if he has it his way no one will ever know his shameful secret. 

People congratulate him. His clan approves of his choices in bedmates and even Genji makes playfully lewd comments. 

This is Hanzo’s life. It’s not his choice but it is his responsibility. He follows the path set for him. A comforting, droll ache that he learned to live with. He swallows every doubt he has, the fear, the shame, all down like a hard liquor that settles like a fiery, painful pit in the hollow of his stomach. He does what he is told. There is nothing else for him to do. 

He does what he’s told and learns to be okay. 

He’s 18 when his father dies. 

Hanzo does not cry. Such a display would be unbefitting of someone of his standing. Besides, he was prepared for this. His training and lessons in the family business where all in preparation for this moment. 

Genji took it pretty hard. He was always a troublesome kid, but typically Hanzo was able to control his rowdier sibling. Granted, as much as Hanzo had prepared for the inevitability of his father's passing he was still shocked by the suddenness of it. So he gives Genji time to grieve that he doesn’t give himself. After that day, something changes in him. He fucks and smokes even more than Hanzo. He gets blackout drunk almost every night; stumbling into Hanzo’s room with red-rimmed eyes. 

Hanzo takes care of him- of course. He cleans off the vomit and lays him on his bed, resolving to sleep on the floor. The next morning Hanzo wakes up and waits on the edge of the bed for Genji to rouse. Eventually, he does, not facing Hanzo as he gathers himself slowly. Hanzo watches and waits for any type of which Genji eventually gives keeping his back turned.

“We are all that’s left Hanzo. Don’t look at me like that.”

“That’s not true.” 

“Yes, it is don’t pretend. First Mom and now Dad-” He turns to him. “and you…”

Hanzo shakes his head. He knows how Genji feels about his position in the clan.  
“The clan-” 

“The clan isn’t family!” He shouts indignantly. “We are family…”

“Don’t say that.” 

“Fucking Christ Hanzo.” He runs a hand through green hair. 

(Hanzo remembers when he showed up to training with neon green hair. He remembers hiding a smile as their teacher halted the lesson just to scold him. Genji has a rebel spirit and, unlike Hanzo, he’s allowed to for the most part.) 

"This is who we are Genji." He grits out. 

Genji staggers back until he's leaning against the wall. "No. This is who you are." He pushes off and gets in Hanzo's face with breath that stinks of liquor. "You're the dutiful son. They say jump and you say how high."

"I know loyalty."

"Loyalty," Genji scoffs. "Is that your excuse? Is that how you justify your weak will-" 

Hanzo backhands him across the face. 

He doesn't regret it. In fact, as his hand curls into a fist at his side, he wants to do worse.

When the shock wears off, Genji straightens up and walks out, head held high like a true Shimada. 

For a few seconds, he stands with deep breaths, frozen in his anger. Eventually, he collapses onto his bed. Head in his hands. 

How much if this rebellion is simply products of their situation and Genji's natural disposition and how much is Hanzo's fault? The fire in his brother he neglected to extinguish when they were young will soon devour both of them.

(A small part of him, the part he smothers with alcohol and sex and drugs, informs him that Genji was wrong. If someone said jump he wouldn't ask how high, he would just do it. Over and over up and down until someone said stop. Until someone said enough. 

Will it ever be enough?)

A few months later they brand him. 

It’s his own fault in the end. He allowed his carefully constructed persona to crumble for just a moment in front of the wrong people; a costly mistake. 

Since his father’s death, Hanzo’s lessons have increased in frequency and intensity. Eventually, they succeeded in pushing Hanzo to the limit. Hanzo, for all his instruction in etiquette, was still young and hot-headed. All it took was one snide misplaced comment about Genji’s behavior at the funeral service. (He had shown up drunk and remained incredibly quiet and somber throughout the whole affair. Disappearing as soon as the service was over.) And he snapped. He delivered a sharp barbed retort and his elders looked at him like he slapped them. Before Hanzo fully understood the mistake he’s made the wind is knocked out of him by a sharp jab to the stomach. 

They tell him to come with them and he does. He follows them without question through those ornate halls and he kneels on that plush cushion on the ground. 

He watches them prepare the fire and the metal rod with its simple design of the family crest on the tip. In the back of his mind, he realizes that there must be others. Others who have undergone the same process of violation and ownership. No names come to mind but, as they bark at him to stay still, as the glowing metal nears his arm, he’s grateful it’s not Genji.

The pain is incredible. Hanzo doesn’t cry out but he bites his lip so hard blood starts to drip down his chin. 

He curls on the ground and takes deep panting breaths. They are telling him something, but Hanzo can’t hear them through the blood roaring in his ears. 

He’s heard this lecture enough times to recite it forwards and backward anyway. 

His body stills and he keeps his eyes to the ground. The footsteps retreat and Hanzo almost wants to cry but he can’t. He stands up eventually, not daring to look at or attempt to treat the festering burn. This pain is his punishment. He rebelled against the clan who had given him everything.  
So he walks out with blood in his teeth and pus dripping down his arm. 

And he promises to do better.

**Author's Note:**

> ive had this in my docs forever........i really hope you all enjoy it. i know some people hate unfinished works (Trei dont interact) but i just wanted to get this out there i really hope you all like it 
> 
> next chap will be hanzo's murder of genji and possibly a glimpse at mccree 
> 
> also this is titled fuck blizzard in my docs....do with that what you will


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